


Kindred spirits

by WhatIfYouFly



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Ben is sad bc Klaus can't see him, Canonical Character Death, Crossover, Crowley & Klaus being chaotic, Crowley's Bentley (Good Omens), Death, Demonic Shenanigans, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Family Member Death, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, No beta we fall like Crowley, Pre-Armageddont (Good Omens), Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), implied/referenced emotional manipulation (including familial), present tense for some reason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:41:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24666286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatIfYouFly/pseuds/WhatIfYouFly
Summary: Klaus Hargreeves is stranded in London, high and half-starved. He only wants to go back home but the black car he gets into is not a cab. Instead it belongs to a chaotic demon who doesn't notice the junkie who's fallen asleep on his backseat.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 84
Kudos: 522





	1. A rather extraordinary black cab

**Author's Note:**

> IMPORTANT: This work contains mentions of drug abuse and death. Please take care and don't continue reading if these topics might be triggering or distressing for you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is set before Umbrella Academy (season 1) TV canon and before the Good Omens Armageddont (probably around 2011, which means Aziraphale and Crowley haven't started working at the Dowlings' place yet and Klaus is 22).

It’s 5:30 p.m. on an ordinary Thursday afternoon.

The most ordinary grey, rainy London rush hour.

Ordinary people leaving their ordinary workplaces to go back to their ordinary homes.

But let’s look past the ordinary for a moment, shall we?

You’ll have to look closer.

Even closer than that.

It takes human brains a lot of effort to notice extraordinary things, even when they are happening right in front of them.

Take this man in his grey three-piece suit, for example. He’s only just left the office, he’s had one hell of a day, he’s in a hurry.

A skinny young man almost stumbles into him on the pavement and he swerves with an annoyed grumble.

He’s tired, he has a thousand things on his mind, he just wants to get home.

So he doesn’t _look_. Not really.

 _Had_ he looked, he might have noticed a few things about this young man.

A few rather extraordinary things.

His outfit for instance. You see all kinds of things in London these days but a sheer black top, dark skinny jeans that hardly deserve the name because they appear to consist mostly of fishnet stockings and a patchwork coat with an impressive black fur collar is extraordinary even by these standards.

Or the fact that he’s getting into what appears to be a 1930s vintage Bentley that is parked right in front of a row of black cabs on the taxi rank.

***

The young man collapses onto the back seat. He’s pale and looks like he hasn’t eaten anything but an assortment of oddly coloured pills in days. Wet strands of dark hair are stuck to his forehead and his black eyeliner is smudged.

_You know this isn’t a cab, right? Klaus?_

The bodiless voice appears to be coming from the seat next to him but Klaus doesn’t seem to notice. Instead he pulls himself into a half-upright position with his last ounce of strength.

His eyes are already half closed as he mumbles “couldyoudropmeoffattheairportplease?”, in the direction of the driver’s seat.

A few moments later he has fallen asleep.

The bodiless voice sighs.

***

A steady patter of rain on the car roof is the only sound for a while.

Night falls slowly and the flock of commuters hurrying through the rain thins out. A steady stream of cars, buses, and even a few soaked cyclists rolls past the Bentley.

Suddenly something deep inside the intestines of the old car seems to be waking up. Not really a conscience but _something_. It’s alert. Waiting, attentively.

Noone else notices the tall, slim man in the dark sunglasses sauntering across the pavement but the Bentley knows who he is.

He’s not in a hurry and not bothered by the rain. His red hair and heavy duty work jacket don’t even appear to be wet. As he strolls along, he's casually talking - or rather _listening_ \- on the phone.

“… Alright, see you,… , no, I don’t… - really? -… yeah, I’ll come over later. Bye, angel.”

He finally reaches the car and nonchalantly slips the phone back into his pocket.

The door is opened and the heavy jacket lands on the passenger seat with a thud. A moment later, both the engine and the surprisingly modern car stereo spring to life on their own accord.

To the first chords of Don’t Stop Me Now, the Bentley slips into a convenient gap between two cars and disappears into the busy traffic.


	2. An unexpected inconvenience

Crowley is in a good mood. Or a bad one, depending how you want to look at it.

He’s on his way to cause trouble and rather looking forward to it.

***

There are parts of being a demon Crowley doesn’t like.

The whole ‘getting-burned-alive-until-all-divine-love-is-gone’ business, for example, or the ‘torturing-human-souls-until-eternity’ thing. He rather likes humans, they are brilliantly clever and a lot more imaginative than all of Heaven and Hell combined. (His superiors would probably say he likes humans a great deal too much.)

But there are parts of being a demon that Crowley does like and the front runner among them is causing mischief.

His demonic deeds aren’t _evil_ , at least not by Hell’s standards.

Crowley’s brand is widespread, low level inconvenience - in other words: get humans so annoyed that they make each other’s lives miserable.

Getting this idea approved hadn’t been an easy feat but in the end he had sold it as _the_ ‘large scale solution for the collective temptation of modern humanity’.

He had pointed out good reasons - the efficiency, the way it manipulated humans’ free will into choosing sin - and after a while his bosses had given in.

If only so they didn’t have to sit through another meeting with Crowley.

His ‘style’ has another advantage, however: It means that he never has to do any actual harm to people.

He hasn’t mentioned this part to his superiors.

Crowley hates seeing humans suffer but that doesn’t mean that he can’t enjoy causing a bit of trouble.

***

The city lights glisten on his dark sunglasses as the Bentley makes its way through the nightly London traffic.

He’s speeding. Just a bit. It’s part of the game.

To the last chords of Killer Queen, he navigates the car through a conveniently unguarded gate onto a dark backyard.

The engine dies down and suddenly a strange feeling creeps up Crowley’s neck.

Something is off.

He pauses and furrows his brow for a moment.

Sometimes it takes even non-human brains a lot of effort to notice extraordinary things.

This particular demon is a good example. He has a job to do, he has a plan and he just wants to get things over with, so he can get hopelessly drunk in company of another, more ethereal, non-human being.

So he doesn’t pay attention. Not really.

Instead he shakes his head and picks up the jacket from the passenger seat.

An assortment of tools, a flashlight and a bundle of paper make their way from the boot of the car to the pockets of the heavy work jacket.

With a satisfying snap, the boot lid slams shut and a second later, Crowley freezes.

***

It takes a lot to make a 6000 year old, occult being speechless and possibly even more to catch this particular one off guard, but someone getting out of the car that he has just driven across town, on his own, for half an hour, will do the trick.

The young man scrambling to his feet in front of him is dressed like he raided a fancy charity shop and for a moment Crowley is about as quick-witted as a deer in the headlights.

“Thanks, I don’t have any luggage - I used to… don’t know what happened to it, really - but anyways… this doesn’t look like the…”

That’s as far as he gets before Crowley has grabbed him by the fur collar of his coat and pushed him against the car with more force than you would give him credit for.

“WHO THE _HEAVEN_ ARE YOU?”

“Klaus, … Hargreeves”, his eyeliner-framed eyes wide with surprise. “I’m… you… you don’t look like… a cabbie”, he continues with the expression of a late night customer in a pub who, after his tenth pint, comes to the mind-boggling realisation that two plus two equals four. 

For Crowley’s taste, he doesn’t look remotely scared enough, given that he’s just been exposed as a stowaway by a demonic car owner.

“Cabbie? Of course I’m no blessed _cabbie_! What on earth are you doing in my…”

At this precise moment, two pennies drop, almost simultaneously.

They stare at each other for a silent moment of mutual realisation, then Crowley slowly lets go of Klaus’ collar.

Before either of them can say a word, a third voice cuts in. A slow, nasty voice that sounds like the manifestation of the phrase ‘dire consequences’. The man it belongs to is twice as broad as the two of them together and is dressed in an ill-fitting night guard uniform.

“WHAT do you two think you’re doing here?”


	3. A casual collaboration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your patience!! I know it's been a while but at long last, here's chapter 3 :)

The guard scrutinises them with a nasty look and points a cheap flashlight at their faces.

Crowley is good at thinking on his feet. He has talked himself out of a myriad of strange situations over the course of his very long life but to his surprise, Klaus is quicker:

“What do YOU think you’re doing here?”

For a moment, the guard looks startled: “Me? But I’m.. I’m the night guard…” Then he gets a grip on himself: “I’m not the one who has any explaining to do and I don’t like repeating myself. What are you doing here?” He stands up a little taller and holds his flashlight in front of him like a knife in a street robbery.

“Are you sure about that?”

“What?”

“That you have no explaining to do? With you obstructing the crucial work of the London city planning council and all…?”, Klaus asks innocently. He’s almost provocatively unimpressed by the guard’s posturing.

Crowley has to bite his tongue to stop himself from grinning. Here’s a demon enjoying a show he didn’t know he’d get tonight.

The guard slowly lowers his flashlight, his face scrunched up in a very confused grimace. With the speed of a preschooler trying to spell “deoxyribonucleic acid” he repeats: “London city planning council……?” It takes him another excruciatingly long moment to put his next thought into words: “But… it’s night…”

“Obviously”, Klaus cuts in, “we’re from the inspection office of the London city planning council, here to complete the obligatory nighttime checks.”

The guard shifts and is about to protest but at that precise moment, Crowley decides that it’s time to get on with business. He grabs a piece of paper in his pocket and as he pulls it out, maybe some letters have shifted into a more advantageous position.

The demon gives Klaus a brief look and then shoves the paper into the guards face.

“My name is Anthony Crowley, I'm the expert auditor for nighttime construction site checks at the London city planning council and this is Mr. Hargreeves, my intern. And frankly, I feel like this farce has lasted long enough. I have a night’s worth of important work to do and I don’t think you want me to be tired and in a bad mood tomorrow when I meet your boss in the office kitchen of the planning council, do you?” The guard looks up from the paper that he’s still holding with a blank expression. “I didn’t think so. So may I suggest you get out of our way. Right. Now.”

The guard opens his mouth to say something but apparently thinks better of it and decides to retreat to his little wooden night guard booth instead.

Crowley passes the slip of paper to Klaus and starts walking towards the construction site. “Come on now! Wouldn’t want you to miss out on your work experience.”

For a moment, Klaus looks just as baffled as the guard but quickly pulls himself together and shrugs. As he walks across the dark backyard he casts a furtive glance around and quickly swallows a few oddly coloured pills from his pocket.

***

The small door opens smoothly and suddenly they find themselves in a huge hall. Far above their heads, ancient gothic pillars are swallowed by the same darkness that surrounds them. Crowley doesn’t pay much attention to the architecture. Instead, he heads for a pile of building material, every step echoing in the large, empty space.

Klaus, on the other hand has stopped dead in his tracks. Neither the drugs, nor the lack of sleep and food, nor the monumental building on their own would put him off his stride like that but something about the combination of all three makes him stagger dangerously for a moment. He hurries after Crowley.

“What is this place?!”

“Biggest science museum in London. Currently being refurbished.” He takes a look at his young partner in crime and continues: “Shortly before they closed for construction, a group of religious zealots won a lawsuit against the museum and now they have to install a creationism-section in the biology department. Right next to the room where they teach evolution. Sooo, we’re gonna make sure noone ever finds it. And while we’re here, we might as well mess with the rest of the floor plans a bit.”

The demon has watched Klaus’ face light up during this explanation and can’t help but grin a little. He’s always considered himself a lone fighter - but on second thought that may have something to do with the fact that his only occasional collaborators had been people like Hastur. It was actually not so bad to have some company.

***

It takes human brains a lot of effort to notice extraordinary things. A construction site is a busy place at the best of times and tomorrow noone will question the legitimacy of signposts that are already installed on the walls. Noone will notice that none of them point to the creationism section. And noone will realise that every single one is on the wrong floor.

“Alright, I found the architects’ office! It’s just up those stairs and to the right - they’ve left the floor plans on the desk!”

Crowley points to the pile of signposts and hands Klaus the tools: “Ok, I’ll take care of the plans. You can put up those signs. Meet back here in an hour.”

“Where?”

“What?”

“Where should I put the signs?”

“Doesn’t really matter. Let your imagination run wild.”

***

An hour later, the demon emerges from the architects’ office with the warm fuzzy feeling of a bad job well done. He saunters back to the main hall and spots Klaus emerging from a staircase at the other end of the room. He looks a little pale, but it’s hard to tell in the gloomy darkness.

“Any problems with the signposts?”

“No, I’d be surprised if anyone even finds their way back to the entrance.”

“Well then, looks like our work here is done.”

They grin at each other and Crowley collects the tools and notes. They make their way back across the dark hall and neither of them says a word until they reach the dingy backyard.

“You never told me where you actually wanted to go with that cab. Can I drop you off anywhere?”

Crowley turns around and suddenly freezes for the second time tonight. Right behind him, Klaus has passed out and collapsed. In the tumble, a little ziplock bag with an assortment of oddly coloured pills has dropped out of his pocket onto the wet, grey pavement.


	4. A surprise encounter at the bookshop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT: This chapter contains mentions of drug abuse and death. Please take care and don't continue reading if those topics might be triggering or distressing for you. 
> 
> Thank you so much for sticking with this story! Your comments and kudos mean the world to me & give me the encouragement I need to keep going! I hope you enjoy the new chapter <3

“Fuck.”

Crowley has spent enough of the 1970s in the underground music scene and has lost too many human acquaintances this way. It takes him about 3 seconds to understand what has happened.

A spiteful look at the ziplock bag and it disappears in his pocket. He kneels down next to the lifeless body that looks very small, very pale and even more skinny now, lying on the wet pavement like that.

Klaus isn’t breathing.

“Shitshitshit”, Crowley mutters under his breath.

He takes a look around and carefully places the body on the backseat again. The last thing he needs right now is a reappearance of that ridiculous night guard asking stupid questions.

The car starts before he even gets into the driver’s seat. Within seconds, the Bentley is shooting along the nightly London streets.

***

Crowley is an unusual demon.

Unusually kind - but more importantly, unusually imaginative.

That's the only reason why he has managed to evade (in more than one sense) hellish disciplinary procedures for 6000 years. He's smart enough to bend the rules and wriggle his way out of trouble. He has personally invented the term _legal loophole_. But even he could not possibly justify saving a human life.

A demon might be able to get away with doing no actual harm to humans.

They can't go around being _nice_.

Crowley is good at coming up with clever solutions but when he doesn’t know what to do or where to go, he always tends to end up in the same place.

Almost by itself, the Bentley starts heading towards Soho.

***

Aziraphale is humming to himself quietly. It’s been a very successful day at the bookshop - no customers for a start. There’s still a stack of books on the desk, waiting to be sorted onto the right shelves, but he has decided that this task can wait until tomorrow.

A few bottles of rather good wine that have been placed on a low table next to the couch, along with two glasses, indicate that he’s expecting company. More precisely, occult company that’s already late.

But Aziraphale is an angel and patience is a virtue. With a content sigh, he picks the book from the top of the stack and makes himself comfortable on a chair.

Outside, it has started raining again. The steady patter of raindrops on the window is accompanied only by the slow ticking of the old grandfather clock in the corner.

Suddenly, screeching brakes cut through the peaceful silence. Aziraphale is used to his demon's taste for dramatic entrances but it’s unusual for him to make such a racket when he arrives at the bookshop at this time of night. With a fond little frown, the angel starts to compose a mild scolding along the lines of "You do know I have neighbours here, don't you?” but before he can even finish the thought, the bookshop door jumps open and a gust of wind blows in.

Aziraphale is still wearing his reading glasses as he stands up and even though they look very nifty in his opinion, they hamper his eyesight more than they help it. So on first glance, it looks like Crowley is carrying a pile of dark, wet rags in his arms.

"Hello dear, I was almost getting worried. Where have you…”

But but by this point, the demon has stepped closer and Aziraphale has taken off his glasses. Crowley isn’t carrying rags. He’s carrying the lifeless body of a young man.

“Hi angel, sorry I’m late, it’s been quite a night.”

Aziraphale has taken a step back, his eyes wide with horror.

“Do you mind?”, Crowley walks towards the couch and carefully lowers the body down onto the cushions.

Aziraphale still looks shocked and Crowley decides to answer the question that’s hanging in the air before he asks it. “I didn’t hurt him, angel.”

“Of course you didn’t”, Aziraphale replies with a very poor attempt to hide his relief, “What happened to him?”

“Drug overdose. I don’t know what he’s taken, only that it was too much. He passed out about half an hour ago and he’s not breathing.”

“Is he human?”

“What do you mean? Of course he’s human.”

“I don’t know, my dear boy, but there is something… _different_ about him. I can’t put my finger on it”, Aziraphale’s eyes linger on the figure on the couch for a moment. “How did you find him?”

Crowley avoids the piercing blue eyes that are darting a suspicious glance at him now. “Long story, angel, but you know I can’t help, I thought…”

“You can’t even be here!”, the angel interrupts him, “I can’t let them catch you near a divine intervention again, dear. It’s too dangerous.”

The demon makes a noise that sounds a bit like _ngk_.

“What am I supposed to do then? Find some nocturnal ducks to feed?”

Aziraphale throws him a disapproving look.

“You could make yourself useful, get some takeout, for example. There’s a rather nice late night sushi shop over in Covent Garden…”

“Okay, okay, I’m going.”

With a shrug the demon heads out the door. A moment later, the car engine starts and then fades in the distance, leaving the bookshop in silence again.

Suddenly, a strange feeling creeps up Aziraphale’s neck. Something is off.

Often it takes even non-human brains a lot of effort to notice extraordinary things.

But this particular angel is different. Ever since his first days on earth he’s fallen in love with it. All the life, all the hidden secrets, all the things to see. He cares about it. About every little detail.

So he pays attention.

Always.

Aziraphale frowns and slowly cuts across the bookshop.

There’s someone standing between the shelves. A young man, not older than the one lying on the couch. He’s dressed completely in black, from his leather jacket and hoodie down to his shoes.

Under normal circumstances, Aziraphale would consider the fact that someone is standing in his shop in the middle of the night, especially after a day without any customers, quite extraordinary.

But this pales in comparison to the truly odd thing about this young man.

He is dead.

The angel does a double take but there is no doubt about it. This young man browsing through his shelves isn’t alive.

After 6000 years on the job, surprises are a rare occurrence but to this angel not an unwelcome one. Every surprise is an opportunity to discover something new and if there’s one thing Aziraphale enjoys more than collecting books and favourite restaurants, it’s gathering knowledge.

It’s only when he finally comes to stand right in front of him that the young man looks up from the books. Their eyes meet and the expression on his face goes from disbelief to surprise to emotion and back to disbelief in a matter of seconds.

“You… you can see me?”

Aziraphale gives him a kind smile, “Yes, I can. May I ask who you are?”

“I’m Ben. Ben Hargreeves.”


	5. All in a day's work

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> def. „chaotic good incarnate“:  
> > will split a 5000 word story into five chapters, start uploading parts of it without having finished the whole thing and update the story in exponentially increasing time intervals BUT will finish it eventually and get you an ending in time for the holidays
> 
> I’m afraid that’s as good an excuse as you’re gonna get, I’m truly sorry this took so long *_*
> 
> I do hope you enjoy this last chapter though. Thank you so much for reading and for your ongoing encouragement / kicks in the butt via kudos and comments <3 As always, please mind the tags: mentions of grief, emotional abuse/manipulation and drug addiction ahead.
> 
> Happy Christmas (if you celebrate it) and hopefully a better year 2021, everyone!
> 
> PS: I know this is a difficult time for a lot of people - perhaps even more this year. So please know that even if you are struggling, if your family is unsupportive or if you feel lost, alone and just not up to it: You (yes, YOU) are very much loved and wanted in this world. It’s a better place because you are here. Take care xxx

The sushi shop doesn't serve coffee.

At least until tonight it never has.

Now, Crowley is sitting on one of the cheap, three-legged bar stools with a steaming mug of black coffee that a slightly confused sushi chef has just handed him.

What in Satan's name is taking the angel so long?

Keeping an eye on Aziraphale and the ridiculous situations he tends to get himself into has been one of Crowley's main activities for the last 6000 years. And while sensing angelic miracles in general is part of the skillset of any half-decent demon, this particular one would notice Aziraphale's brand of magic anywhere.

Only at the moment there's nothing to notice.

The expression on the demon's face - half hidden behind a pair of jet-black sunglasses - hovers somewhere between a fond smirk and an eye roll as he takes another sip of coffee.

***

"So you died when you were only 16 years old?”

Aziraphale has listened to Ben's story attentively and looks at him with compassion.

"I had to watch my siblings grieve for me while my father - well, this _man_ \- abused my death to manipulate them. I didn't...", he hesitates, "I didn't want to leave yet. And with Klaus being able to talk to the dead, well, I stuck to him.”

He stares into the distance for a while.

A firework of questions is erupting in the angel's head but he restrains himself. It is very obvious that Ben has never had the chance to talk to anyone about all this. He decides that this is the time to listen.

Instead he busies himself with the steaming teapot that has appeared on the table at some point in the conversation. Fortunately, unlike _other_ supernatural entities (for a brief moment the image of an obnoxious grin and a purple scarf flashes across Aziraphale’s inner eye), this ghost doesn’t seem bothered by him eating and drinking. Either that, or he is too busy with himself to pay attention to a tea-drinking angel, who’s to say?

After a few minutes of musing about the proper tea etiquette in company of ghosts on Aziraphale’s and silent brooding on Ben’s part, the young man is ready to continue.

"He started doing drugs way before I died. Softer stuff at first but he was never picky", his mouth twists into a pained smile.

"At first, under the nose of our father, he had to be careful but after my death the last pretence of them being a family shattered. It all fell apart. Once he had moved out, he started with the hard drugs and…"

Ben's voice has gotten quieter with every word.

"And now he can't see you anymore?", Aziraphale cuts in gently.

Ben doesn't look up but nods sadly.

It takes him a few moments to collect himself but now his own curiosity is taking charge.

”What about you? The other man said he couldn't help Klaus but you can? What did he mean?”

For a moment, a guilty look flashes across the angel's face. Wrapped up in this fascinating conversation he has almost forgotten the young man lying on the couch at the other end of the bookshop. He composes himself quickly and moves to get up.

"We are a bit like you and your siblings. We can... do things that other people can’t."

Ben looks even more curious now.

"What can you do?”

“I can help people", Aziraphale says simply. He doesn’t sound impatient but there is a finality to his words that doesn’t leave room for further questions, “And I think I know how to help your brother…”

… _and you_ , he adds silently as he walks across the room to the pale, motionless body on the couch.

***

There it is. _Finally._

Crowley sets down his cup with more relief than he would give himself credit for.

Supernatural forces are a funny thing to describe in human terms. The very point of a miracle is to defy any laws of logic or nature. And while things that are logical and natural make sense to humans, anything beyond is usually more comfortable to ignore. That makes human language a less than ideal vehicle to describe what it means to _notice magic_.

Crowley has never given this much thought but if he had to describe it, he would probably say it sounds like a warm chime that smells faintly of well-kept old books and feels like a knitted jumper on a cold day. — He wouldn’t admit it but it feels like comfort,… like home.

Shrugging off any faint notions of inconvenient sentimental nostalgia, the demon gets up swiftly and grabs the paper takeaway bag that has been sitting on the counter next to him for the better part of half an hour.

A moment later, the sudden roaring engine makes the still vaguely bedazzled sushi chef look up from his work. The shop is completely empty, save for a coffee mug on the counter in front of him that he’s sure he has never bought. He looks at it in confusion for a moment - it even has the sushi shop’s logo on it - before putting it into the sink with a shrug and a faint memory of a weird customer with sunglasses.

***

When you leave one half-dead person with a supernatural being and come back an hour later you might expect to find the person dead. Or miraculously alive. What you probably wouldn’t expect, is to instead find two people, one dead one alive.

Only with a facade of unnerving nonchalance that he has perfected over millennia, Crowley manages to hide his surprise as he saunters into the shop.

He gives the newest member of the little party a friendly wave and comes to stand next to Aziraphale just as the thin figure on the couch begins to stir.

Klaus’ opens his eyes and squints through the bleariness and smudged eyeliner.

Gingerly, a head of dark hair comes into his field of vision. The figure is upside down but looks a lot like… Ben.

Ben?

He blinks again.

“Am… am I sober?”

Ben’s face is slowly coming into focus now, the open disbelief written across his features quickly turning into a broad grin.

“You haven’t been sober for years, you idiot!”

Klaus sits up with a start. „Am I dead?!“, he sounds a little more alarmed now.

Ben seems caught between laughing and crying and resolves to just shaking his head.

Klaus adjusts himself into a sort of upright position on the couch without taking his sight off Ben. Slowly his eyes pan over to the unlikely pair standing in the background.

“You alright?”, the man with the sunglasses asks casually and with a lopsided smirk. He doesn’t sound worried in the least.

Klaus is very rarely at a loss for words but this whole evening has been pretty weird even by his standards, so he just nods at Crowley.

The man next to him is dressed like a comfy sofa and is almost radiating with kindness as he says: “You’ve been through a lot tonight, you should take it easy. If you want, you can stay on the couch for the night and Crowley here can get you were you need to be tomorrow. It really is no trouble at all…”

“Er, thank,… thank you”, Klaus still seems a bit disoriented.

“There’s something to eat and drink on the table over here and if you need anything, we’ll be just in the back room. I think you two have some catching up to do.”

Aziraphale subtly gestures for the demon to follow him. Crowley gets the hint instantly but takes a moment to select one of the wine bottles and pick two glasses from the couch table.

He turns to leave but is interrupted by Klaus who’s slowly starting to look more like himself again.

“I have no idea what’s going on but I … thank you.”

He looks at Crowley with a mix of admiration and puzzlement.

“Don’t worry about it. Oh, and let me know if you ever need a reference for that internship”, he says with a grin before following the angel to the back room.

As Crowley closes the door, Ben and Klaus are already immersed in an energetic conversation and Aziraphale has started to unwrap the sushi.

“Just out of interest, angel, who is that guy in the leather jacket?”

***

The bookshop on this busy Soho street corner is an unlikely place.

If its walls could talk they would tell you stories of angels, demons, heartbreak and silly drunk conversations at 3 am. So by its standards, two brothers - one dead one alive - sharing their first conversation in years while two supernatural beings eat sushi out of a paper bag in the back room isn’t even that remarkable.

It’s the place for that sort of thing.

_\- the end -_


End file.
